Blood That's In My Bed
by freakingdork
Summary: Nathan Harris - 2x11 - is in love with Dr. Reid and is sure Dr. Reid feels the same. Unfortunately for everyone involved, Nathan's in a big surprise when he gets out of the hospital and finds that Dr. Reid has taken up with another man - Morgan. Rating for torture and character death; full warnings inside. Oneshot. Complete.


**Full warnings:** character death, psychological and physical torture, dissociation, and implied sexual assault

**A/N -** This is your friendly reminder that if any of my fic disappears from this site, I crosspost to other sites as well and you can find that info on my profile.

* * *

**Blood That's In My Bed**

* * *

Nathan wrote Dr. Reid two letters a week for his entire stay at the Psychiatric Institute of Washington. Even though Dr. Reid stopped answering them after four months, Nathan is sure he reads them all.

He would. He must. He _promised_.

He's just busy.

* * *

Fourteen months into his stay, one of Dr. Reid's letters come back "return to sender." His psychiatrist states that it appears Dr. Reid moved and since he didn't tell Nathan, Dr. Reid no longer wanted to be contacted. What an idiot; it's obvious to Nathan that Dr. Reid is just testing him, testing Nathan's love and devotion.

After all, Nathan had told him last week about all the things they'll do together when he gets out in twenty one months.

Yes, definitely a test and it's a test Nathan's sure he can pass.

He still writes the letters, even though they won't let him mail them. He needs to be able to show Dr. Reid how driven and devoted he remained in the face of adversity.

* * *

It's worryingly easy to find Dr. Reid's new address; he's an FBI agent, he should really be more careful. Nathan knows it's a good thing he's out because Dr. Reid doesn't seem to have any idea how much people want to hurt FBI agents. Nathan will happily teach him to be more careful and that's not the only way he'll keep Dr. Reid safe.

When he arrives, it's a decent sized house in a quiet suburb on a sleepy Sunday afternoon. How simple, how mundane, how utterly _boring_. It's not suited for their new life together.

Not. At. All.

As he approaches, a dog runs up to the front of the fence, barking excitedly. A dog? Dr. Reid would _never_ own a dog, he's definitely not a dog person. Maybe a cat person, but not a dog person, never a dog.

Maybe he has the wrong house because something is very, very wrong here.

Nathan quietly slips in through the unlocked door - and how unsafe is that? - and into the kitchen.

"Babe, is that you?" comes a low voice from the back of the house. His instinct has him reaching for a knife because now Nathan's utterly convinced he really does have the wrong house and as he turns to grab the largest one, he sees it.

It's a pile of mail. Harmless, everyday things. Bills. Junkmail. One personal letter.

Derek Morgan. Spencer Reid. Spencer Reid. Derek Morgan. Derek Morgan.

He runs towards the back of the house, enraged. How _dare_ this man - this terrible, terrible man - even consider encroaching on what doesn't belong to him? Because Dr. Reid belongs to _Nathan_, not some poor substitute for him, not this other man; they're meant to be and nothing, _no one_, will stand in the way.

Derek's in a towel and he's facing away from the door when Nathan walks in.

"I swear to god Spencer," he says, just before Nathan surprises him, stabs him as close to the spine as he dares, slashing towards it and hoping it'll hit a disk rather than bone. Luck is on his side because his blade goes through clean and when Derek falls forward onto the bed, shouting and fighting hard, Nathan keeps stabbing - chest, gut, groin...anywhere he can reach.

Even when the man finally stops moving, Nathan has trouble stopping; he doesn't want to _ever_ stop. Derek's blood is everywhere and Nathan's blood is singing in his veins. He realizes that this is what it feels like to finally fulfill one of his deepest fantasies and he can hardly believe the high it's given him. He hates that he hasn't gotten to do this sooner.

Sure, Nathan will have bruises and bite marks and scratches and eventually some of them will scar. He figures it's a fair trade - he gets to have Dr. Reid all to himself.

Now all Nathan has to do is wait until Dr. Reid gets home.

* * *

Soon after getting into place, Dr. Reid walks through the door, a bag of groceries in his hand.

"Derek, I got a few more things than..."

Nathan swings the statue at his head and Dr. Reid falls, stopping the rather unnecessary speech to the dead man in the next room.

* * *

Spencer can feel Derek behind him, slick with blood and cold with death. A bed that once held their happiest memories is now holding Spencer's worst. His lover is dead and his torturer is alive and pressing him down. He tries not to whimper as the blade slashes his skin - they're relatively shallow cuts, but what they represent is so much more painful.

He woke up here - completely naked, bound and bleeding - and he can't even be sure that this isn't just some nightmare or hallucination. Hell, Spencer would take a schizophrenic break over whatever this is.

"Dr. Reid," Nathan whispers, "why didn't you wait for me? I told you I'd take very good care of you. Didn't you trust me?"

"No, I just got...impatient," Spencer grinds out between cuts. "That was very...rude and uncaring...of me. I'm very...sorry."

Nathan trails the blade lightly across Spencer's jaw, down his throat to his clavicle. It's not enough to break skin, but it's enough of a threat to make Spencer's breathing go shallow.

"I suppose I'll forgive you. Eventually."

The knife scrapes down to his chest and Nathan presses harder there, drawing blood. Just as Spencer feared years ago, Nathan is getting...very excited at the sight, enjoying sticking his hand in his blood and spreading it everywhere as his persistent erection keeps digging into Spencer's thigh.

"I'm...going to have to call my team tomorrow," Spencer states. "If I don't, they'll come looking for me and we...we don't want that, right?"

Nathan nods, but he's clearly elsewhere from the way he strokes a particularly deep cut. With a roll of his hips, Nathan shudders with pleasure and Spencer fears what he'll end up facing before morning light.

* * *

Spencer hasn't felt like this before, hasn't felt this meek, even after the football team tied him to a goal post. Sure, he played along every once in awhile, kept the bullies placated until he found the perfect time to strike with his strongest weapons - his brains and his words. It had been the same at work; talking unsubs down or even just talking around them until help came had gone from a skill Spencer had begun cultivating in his teenage years to something of an art.

But now he just feels broken, like there's nothing left except a nameless shell.

Even though his survival instinct is strong, he's completely unsure of his ability to survive real life once he escapes this nightmare. _If_ he escapes, that is.

* * *

Nathan sleeps soundly, curled against Spencer's chest, looking far too young to have anything to do with what has happened in his bedroom.

Derek's body is completely stiff now and painfully pressed into Spencer's shoulder. It's still preferable to earlier because now that the blood's dry, all the unrealistic hope of saving his lover has dried up too.

Spencer can't sleep, but he still can't find it in him to cry either.

Maybe it's because he's not real, not there, not anywhere.

It's too real to actually be real; that's how Spencer knows none of it actually happened.

There's nothing to do until the phone call and he's already figured that out, so he lets himself hide out.

He's high above the bed, flying up into the night's sky.

It's the only place he's safe.

* * *

In the early morning hours, Spencer's bonds are untied and the pain of blood rushing back into his hands is overwhelming. Even if Nathan stands in the bathroom doorway watching him, Spencer's glad Nathan lets him use the toilet because the last thing he needs is for the team to find him after he's pissed himself. Then it's back to bed, back to being trussed up, back to his former lover making him that much more uncomfortable than this would otherwise be.

Nathan leaves for a few moments and then comes back with a washcloth and a bucket of soapy water.

"You look so pretty like this," he sighs, "but I don't want you to get an infection."

He's gentle, gentle enough that Spencer identifies it as the closest approximation to love that Nathan can give, and it's not fair because the soft touch is bringing Spencer back to the last place he wants to be. Spencer can't help the slight squirming; he can't stand being brought back into his own skin.

"Hold still please," Nathan coos. "I don't want to have to teach you a lesson when I'm done."

Spencer stills, even though the threat hardly scares him at this point. What could happen that hadn't happened since he arrived home later than expected? Nathan could kill him, yes, but after the past eighteen hours, that would be a relief.

"We'll have to leave tonight, of course, once it's dark. I was going to take you to our new home yesterday, but we kind of got caught up in our reunion, didn't we?" Nathan smiles, dabbing at the dried semen on the side of Spencer's thigh. "It's safer, far back in the woods so we can have our privacy."

"That sounds...nice," Spencer says. "You know I...that I love you, right? I don't want my friends...getting in the way of that either."

Nathan just hums in acceptance.

His voice pitches high as he reminds Nathan he needs to call into work.

"In a few minutes Spencer. Don't be so demanding," Nathan scolds as he continues his careful scrubbing.

* * *

Once he's clean, Nathan brings Spencer his phone.

"If you say anything, _anything_, to tip them off, I will slit your throat from ear to ear," Nathan threatens as he dials and holds the phone up to Spencer's face.

"Hey Hotch...uhh, Morgan and I won't be in today. We're not feeling well. Do you think will Gideon want verification from a doctor?" A short pause, as if he's listening to instructions and not Hotch's surprised noise. "Sure, we can go to the doctor and get one before we come back." Another pause. "Thanks, yeah, you too."

Spencer knows Hotch is good at picking up his clues and deciphering them; he learned that back in Georgia. Spencer's hoping that both the mention of Gideon, who left years ago, and actually agreeing to see a doctor will tip him off enough to come investigate. Plus, Nathan turns off the phone and Spencer never turns the damn thing off, so if they have Garcia search for it, it'll only further their worry. Thankfully, the house will be one of the first places they search, victimology and all that.

And if they don't find him soon, Spencer's not sure how much longer he realistically has before he starts fighting back and likely dying in the process.

* * *

When the people storm the house a half hour later, Nathan is in the kitchen making them food. Spencer is almost disappointed that Nathan isn't in the room with him - he does want Nathan to face justice, but Spencer would rather Nathan slit his throat than see that justice carried out.

The voices and faces are distant, like wearing earplugs while looking through the wrong end of binoculars. There's movement and crying and an LEO - what's that even stand for, he wonders - runs out of the room, probably to keep the crime scene from being contaminated with their vomit. Because that's what his house is now and it will never be anything but a crime scene from now on.

"Derek? Is Derek okay?" he asks when someone moves into his view. It's very hard to remember where Derek is with everything swirling around him. "I'm better off, make sure Derek gets in the first ambulance please...he bled the most."

The gray haired man standing in front of him - with a goatee like Derek has, he realizes - looks like he might cry after he suggests that and it doesn't fit the man's face at all. Everything looks strange and yet, he knows without any rhyme or reason that this man's face shouldn't look like that.

They attempt to load him in a stretcher before they take Derek and he screams and scratches and fights until he feels a sharp sting and then a calm that can only be blamed on sedatives.

* * *

Antiseptic. Bleach. Scratchy blanket.

These are the things that his senses pick up to alert him to the fact that he's in a hospital without having to open his eyes.

When he does, he expects Derek in the chair beside him, not Prentiss. But there she is anyway, pale to the point of being sickly with eyes that are distressingly unfocussed.

"Derek?" he rasps, startling her more than he expects.

"No Spencer," she says...and why is she using his first name? "No, he...he was dead when we arrived. I'm so..."

Why it jerks him back, he's not sure, but he remembers. He lets her babble on as memories lazily float through his brain in extremely vivid detail.

Her words no longer matter.

Neither does his sanity.

He can't think of anything matters now.

* * *

**A/N -**

I love reviews and when I get a bunch of them, it really eases my anxiety regarding writing (see my profile for more explanation), but **please don't ask me to continue a fic that I've marked as complete**. While I can logically recognize it's generally a compliment to my writing and/or the general story idea, it actually aggravates my writing anxiety and makes me less likely to write overall. I hope I still get reviews from people who wish there was more, but **when I mark complete, I really do mean complete**. Thank you so much for being understanding.


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